


Sleeping Beauty

by girlgoneblack



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dubious Consent? (he's kinda sleeping so...), Guilty Dean, Innocent Sam, M/M, One Shot, One-sided feelings, Sleeping Sam, Sleeping Together, Somewhere during season 8 or 9, new feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-19 05:05:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11890644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlgoneblack/pseuds/girlgoneblack
Summary: When they’re alone in motel rooms, Dean watches Sam sleep night after night.





	Sleeping Beauty

**Author's Note:**

> So the idea for this one-shot fic came to me after I rewatched some episodes, and I saw one in which Balthazar calls Sam "Sleeping Beauty" (and then proceeds to asking Dean if he stole any kisses from Sam, God, Balthazar, thank you for existing), and then another one where Dean calls Sam "Sleeping Beauty", right after the first trial to close the Gates of Hell. 
> 
> So here you go, I hope you like it, please, pleaaase be indulgent if there are any mistakes, English is not my first language. 
> 
> Cheers!

   Dean has since long noticed that when Sam sleeps, all the worry disappears from his young face. The constant frown and scowl that stay plastered on his face throughout the day simply fade away and are replaced by a calm and peaceful expression. The sharp lines smoothen out, making his brother look a few years younger; not that he isn’t young, but the job leaves its marks.

 

   When they were little, Dean would always watch his brother fall asleep, just to make sure. He never fell asleep before him. He would always comb through his unruly hair, watching his big eyes slowly shut closed, his mouth open slightly and his mind drift to sleep. Only then would he lay beside Sam and fall asleep to the sounds of the TV and their father snoring on the bed next to them.

 

   It changed when they grew older, when they became teenagers. Sam no longer wanted to be treated like a kid, and Dean was too proud and too embarrassed to show his affection to him.

 

   And then Sam left for Stanford, and Dean was left with no-one to be embarrassed before.

 

   When they reunited, Dean picked up his old habit almost unconsciously. At first, it was almost to prove to himself that this wasn’t a dream, that Sam was really with him again, that no matter how long he stayed awake and stared at his brother, no matter how many sleepless nights he went through, Sam would always be there in the morning, on the bed next to him.

 

   After that, he just watched because it calmed him, because it filled him with warmth to see his little brother find some peace in his sleep after all they went through. He watched because it was a beautiful sight; his sleeping brother in the moonlight that sunk through the curtains, his face smooth, his raspberry-pink mouth slightly agape, his long lashes fanning his cheeks and casting a slight shadow on them, his long and unruly hair sprawled around his head on the pillow.

 

   He watched because it was breathtaking. And with a sight like this, he drifted to sleep every night, lulled by the deep breaths of his sleeping brother.

 

   After they moved to the Men of Letter’s Bunker, he didn’t have the chance to do it very often. He missed it. He missed it awfully, to the point that it was almost physically painful. During their first nights in the Bunker, he couldn’t fall asleep, having nothing to soothe him to sleep. No quiet breaths in the night, no moonlit, gentle face. He had a few, long, sleepless nights, during which he fought the urge to barge into his brother’s room, lie in the bed with him and watch him sleep while he fell asleep himself. But Sam would probably not be very pleased. He valued his privacy, clinged to every little shred of it where he could find it, since he never truly had any. That’s why he was overjoyed by the prospect of having his own room, and while Dean smiled at him at the time while his brother beamed and radiated happiness, he was, deep down, very disappointed that he wouldn’t be watching his brother every night just like he used to until now.

 

   So when the first opportunity to sleep outside of the Bunker presented itself along with a case, Dean jumped on it like a starving man on food.

 

   Their motel was just like others they have stayed in. Sam complained about the small bathroom, or the uncomfortable bed, but Dean was just happy that he would be able to watch his brother sleep again. When night came and Sam laid down, closing his eyes, his features softened, his frown disappeared, his worry faded away; just like Dean remembered it. After a short while, he heard his brother’s regular breath deepen, and he knew he had fallen asleep.

 

   And again, just like in old times, he spent hours watching the breathtaking view before him, watching the moonlight play in his brother’s soft hair, tainting it silver, flickering on his long lashes. After some time contemplating the little, silver flames that danced between Sam’s brown locks, a sudden urge overcame him to run his hand through his brother’s hair, to see if it was truly as soft as it looked, to check if it was as silky as he remembered it from when they were children.

 

   He slowly slipped from his bed on the cheap, motel carpet and tip-toed to his brother’s bed. He gently sat on the edge and leaned towards his brother, barely breathing, as to not to wake him. He extended his hand and softly ran the tips of his fingers through Sam’s hair.

 

   He nearly moaned at the feeling.

 

   God, it had been so long.

 

   Sammy’s hair was perfect; supple, silky, soft and mesmerizing, just as he remembered.

 

   He repeated the gesture, this time using his full hand.

 

   It felt so good. He couldn’t stop.

 

   He spent the next few minutes simply running his hand through his brother’s hair, his eyes half-closed and his mouth slightly opened, completely lost in the feeling. His breathing was becoming shallow and slightly ragged, and his skin tingled everywhere from the pleasure the simple gesture provided him.

 

   An unruly lock of hair fell on Sam’s face as Dean combed through his hair again, and Dean gently pushed it away, his fingertips grazing his brother’s smooth skin. Dean smiled when his brother mumbled something incomprehensive in his sleep, and lightly stroked his cheek with his thumb. It was as soft as his hair.

 

   He trailed his fingers down the side of his face, then down his long neck, and up, over his Adam’s apple, to his lips.

 

   Without even realizing what he has been doing, he ran his thumb over his brother’s incredibly soft and supple lips.

 

   His breathing hitched.

 

   He ran his thumb over Sam’s lips one more time, then he gently slid it into his slightly opened mouth. His thumbnail clanked silently on his brother’s teeth, and Dean pushed it further, until he felt the dampness of his brother’s soft tongue.

 

   God, why was everything about Sam so incredibly soft?

 

   He twirled his thumb in his brother’s mouth, savoring the goosebumps it caused on his arms, and just as he was about to take his finger out, Sam made a quiet grunt and started gently sucking on his thumb.

 

   All the blood in his body went south. He felt his boxer briefs tighten uncomfortably under his loose pajama pants. His heart leaped to his throat and his pulse quickened at an alarming speed.

 

   He quickly removed his thumb from his brother’s mouth, and, like in some kind of trance, he brought his slightly trembling hand to his own mouth and sucked the same finger that had been, just a moment ago, between Sam’s lips.

 

   His thumb tasted of fresh, spearmint toothpaste and a little of orange.

 

   He was still watching Sam sleep, from behind his half-closed eyelids, while sucking avidly on his thumb. His other hand unconsciously trailed towards his swollen groin, and when it finally reached it, he let out a small hiss of pleasure. Delicious shivers ran all over his back.

 

   He eyed with a feverish gaze Sam’s sleeping face, his slightly parted, pink, plush lips, the slight blush of his cheeks, and suddenly, he wasn’t seeing his brother anymore, but a man, a beautiful, desirable man, whom he wanted to see writhing beneath Dean in pleasure, panting his name; he wanted to grab his soft, silky hair and pull them until it hurt, he wanted to mess up perfect, little Sammy, dirty him up, then lick him clean and start over.

 

   Dean put a hand on Sam’s long, slender neck and squeezed his fingers slightly around it. Then he leaned in, extremely gently, his breath quickening, his other hand massaging slowly his hard cock.

 

   He halted when he was about two centimeters from Sam’s lips.

 

   He blinked a few times, and then a cool wave of reality came crashing on him. 

 

   He pushed himself away from Sam, jumping to his feet on the motel carpet, like he had just been burnt.

 

   He looked in horror at his sleeping brother.

 

   His _brother_! _BROTHER_ , goddammit!

 

   He wobbled back to his own bed, crashing on it and gripping at the sheets.

 

   What was he _doing_?!

 

   He flopped down on his stomach with a groan, and was reminded _exactly_ of what he has been doing to his brother as his hard-on pressed into the mattress.

 

   He was taking advantage of Sam, of his little brother, of Sammy, whom he swore to protect with his life. He was tainting him, dirtying him, and _oh God!_ , just _how dared he_?!

 

   He squeezed his eyes tight shut and bit hard on his lower lip, wishing for all those sick thoughts to go away.

 

   They didn’t.

 

   Dean turned his head to the side and slowly opened his eyes. His brother was still lying there, the moonlight playing on his handsome face, his tempting lips slightly parted. Dean unconsciously rolled his hips, rubbing his erection on the bed. He grunted silently, feeling the wave of pleasure surging through his veins. 

 

   And then he just couldn’t stop himself, and he started rubbing more and more, accelerating his pace, creating friction that sent delicious shivers to his entire body, and never leaving his brother’s sleeping face from his sight.

 

   His head filled with dirty, dirty images of his brother under him, of his brother on his knees, of his brother’s smooth, soft mouth on him and of Dean’s hand gripping his hair, and he came while picturing Sam coming under him, while crying out his name, while crying out “ _Deaaan!_ ” in his perfect, silky voice.

 

   He came in his boxers like some teenager while thinking of his _little brother_.

 

   His throat went dry and a deep shame filled his gut. He sprang to his feet and stumbled to the bathroom, knocking off a standing lamp on the way. It fell with an awfully loud noise that echoed in the dead silence of the night.

 

   Dean silently cursed himself and his whole life and locked the bathroom door. Then he sank down to the cool tiles, leaning against the door, and dropped his head between his knees.

 

   He was a sick bastard. God, he deserved to return to Hell right now and spend the rest of eternity there, being sliced and cut through alive, over and over again.

 

   He nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a soft knock to the bathroom door. His heart leaped to his throat and he grunted silently.

 

   ‘Dean?’ called his brother’s gentle voice, although a little muffled by the door separating them.

 

   Dean groaned. There could not have been a worse timing.

 

   ‘Dean, are you okay?’ asked his brother.

 

   ‘Go away’ muttered Dean through gritted teeth.

 

   A long moment of deafening silence passed before Sam spoke again:

 

   ‘Dean, open the door.’

 

   ‘No’ answered Dean.

 

   ‘Dean, I will break it down if I have to’ warned his brother, worry tainting his voice.

 

   Dean felt a deep self-loathe rise within him. He did not deserve his brother worrying over him. He was not worth it. Not after what he has done.

 

   ‘ _Dean_ ’ said his brother in a pleading voice, and Dean listened to him this time. His brother did not deserve to _beg him_ for anything. If anyone had to beg for something right now, it was Dean. He slowly rose to his feet, quickly checked if there was a visible, wet stain on the front of his pajama pants, and when his was certain that there was no noticeable evidence of his shameful actions of the night, he took a deep breath and opened the door.

 

   Sam was standing right in front of him, so awfully close, his hair disheveled, his eyes swollen from sleep, and – Dean gulped loudly, his eyes trailing down – his upper body bare, while his loose pants hung from his slim waist.

 

   ‘What happened?’ asked his brother. ‘Why are you awake?’

 

   Dean did not look at his brother. He couldn’t. Instead, he let his eyes wander on the ugly, motel carpet. He wanted to tell everything to his brother. He really wanted to. Sam deserved to know. But he had already lied to his brother so many times in his life, and his conscience didn’t exactly stop him this time. Especially since he was afraid. He was so utterly terrified that his brother would be disgusted with him, that his brother would hate him, that his brother would _leave_ – and that, he could not have lived with.

 

   So his selfish side took over and he lied:

 

   ‘Nothing. Just a nightmare.’

 

   Sam eyed him with a suspicious look. Well, Dean didn’t blame him. They never really talked of touchy-feely stuff between them. So this kind of over-sharing, of baring weaknesses was weird.

 

   ‘I’m going back to sleep. It’s nothing, Sam’ added Dean, and, avoiding at all costs to look at his brother, he made his way to his bed.

 

   ‘I had a nightmare too’ suddenly muttered Sam from behind him.

 

   Dean felt a twinge of worry in his chest. He turned around to face Sam, who suddenly was very close to him. Why did the guy have to move so silently?

 

   ‘Did you?’ he mumbled, turning his face to the side.

 

   ‘Yeah, Dean. It happens, you know. To the best of us. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.’

 

   Dean pondered over those words and a sudden realization dawned on him. His brother, lovely Sam, sweet, innocent, little Sammy, was genuinely worried for Dean, was cheering him up.

 

   He let out a small, bitter laugh, and it made Sammy’s eyes fill with sadness.

 

   ‘It’s okay, Sam. Just leave it.’

 

   He turned his back to Sam and eyed his bed, wanting nothing more than to crawl back into it and drown in self-pity over his miserable, wrecked life. But a warm, soft hand on his bare forearm stopped him in his tracks.

 

   ‘What is it, Sammy?’ he sighed, glancing over his shoulder.

 

   Sam peered at him shyly through his long lashes.

 

   ‘Do you… Do you maybe wanna sleep together tonight?’ he asked, glancing at him with a mixture of hopefulness and embarrassment, and Dean’s mind filled with those dirty, dirty images again, and his brain was screaming “ _No!_ ” while his whole body was screaming “ _Yes!_ ”, and he looked straight into Sammy’s puppy eyes, and he thought about how they would be filled with disappointment if he said no – “ _No, Sam, God, we’re not children anymore_ ” –, and so because he was a good brother, but mostly because of the incontrollable lust that started pumping through his veins, and a little bit because he was a masochist and he knew that he would experience a slow and painful agony caused by his brother’s closeness that would conflict with his last strands of sane spirit that would forbid him from laying a finger on him, he shrugged and answered:

 

   ‘Sure.’

 

   Sammy’s puppy eyes immediately lit up, and Dean couldn’t help but smile at him.

 

   They laid down together in Sam’s bed, and Dean felt like there were kids again. His sat, awake, until Sam fell asleep, running his fingers through Sam’s silky hair, listening to his slow breathing, making sure he was okay.

 

   Only now, it felt different, with his newly discovered feelings for his brother, with the huge guilt sitting in the pit of his stomach, and with his breath hitching every time he looked at his brother, his sick, twisted mind conjuring images of hot bodies tangled together in a moonlit room and sounds of soft whispers and purrs that spelled “ _Sammy…_ ”.

 

   So when Sam finally fell asleep, Dean slipped under the covers just beside him, scooting closer to his brother’s warm body and pressing his stomach to his back and his lips to his silky hair, and he added to his list, with the moon as his sole witness, another thing to protect Sammy from: himself.

**Author's Note:**

> So, tadam! First fic I've ever written, completed and posted. I really hope you liked it (if you did, do not hesitate to comment or to leave some kudos or whatever haha). 
> 
> I am very tempted to continue this story and write a longer fic as a continuation, but I am not sure yet (I'm a very lazy person). 
> 
> Thank you guys for reading, and keep cool, watch Supernatural, and ship whomever you like!
> 
> Cheers!


End file.
